Gangland, Vice City
by MB-Romero
Summary: CH. 3 is up, CH. 4 to be up soon! My first so plz R/R
1. The Glory Years

"QUICK, ONTO THE FUCKIN' BIKES", yells out Trey, a large tattooed biker. "What?" I yell back. It's too late, they're gone.  
  
"You're under arrest sir," says Police Officer, Frank Sims, "for the robbery of The Liberty City Bank; you have the right to remain silent. Anything you do or say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, you will be appointed one. Please step in the car"  
  
I make a run for it, but the police officer grabs me and throws me in the back.  
  
"Shit", I say.  
  
***Prison***  
  
"What're you in for?" says my cellmate, Jack Sinseq.  
  
"Heh, well right now I'm in for robbing Liberty's Bank", I reply.  
  
"Really, haha. That means you must be who? MB Romerex?"  
  
"Yep"  
  
"You're serious!"  
  
"Yeah"  
  
"Holy crap, I'm just in here for fuckin' drugs, 6 grams of fuckin' marijuana, who would have thought I'd be celled up with MB fuckin' Romerex. Listen, man, I'm a reporter for The Liberty Tree, but I think that little career will be over after this. I hadn't really made it too far, man; I only did one or two columns. I was thinking, because I really need the money, I might be able to do an interview or something? Maybe even a biography? I mean, you're going to be in here for a long time, they know who you are and what you've done. Leave a legacy, man!"  
  
"Hmmm, well. I guess I could. Sure. I'll do it. A biography."  
  
"OK, we'll start tomorrow; we've got to get a tape recorder."  
  
"Okay."  
  
***The Next Day***  
  
"Okay," I begin, "here's my story:  
  
It all began in the 60's. My parents, Jane and Sam Romerex, were a couple of hippies who did all sorts of drugs. My real name, Moonbeam, is the result of that.  
  
I was born in 1962 on January 1st. A lot of boring shit happened through my childhood until I was 13, so I'll skip to then.  
  
In the summer before Grade 8, I started smoking pot. That soon turned into an obsession, which soon turned into a dealership. I started dealing mid-Grade 8. That was my beginning to crime. In Grade 9, I had a pretty good rep and I was accepted into a gang. This gang was called, "The Triax". The leader of the group, Jimmy Capel, was smoked up and he says he heard the word "Triax", and named his group after it.  
  
This gang started just dealing, but then we got into smuggling. Soon. there was another gang.  
  
The other gang was called "Anarch". Soon there was gang fights, and as the gangs grew, the fights grew more brutal. Yes, they were all brutal, but one. one was worse, one was the one. The one last fight.  
  
It was a Friday and the gangs were going for a large shipment that had just come in. Smack. Lots of smack. We had grown bigger than pot. We were both there at the same time.  
  
"What the fuck are you doing here", yelled the Anarch leader Jabel, "this shipment is ours!"  
  
"It's ours, Jabel" said our leader calmly.  
  
A note was put in my hands. Take out Jabel. Use the sniper in the van. You will be rewarded. Jimmy Capel.  
  
I shoved the note in my pocket and slowly made my way to the van. When I got there, I grabbed the sniper rifle.  
  
This was all taking place at Ocean Beach. I had to find a clear spot. The lighthouse, I thought, perfect view. I stealthily made my way to the lighthouse. I climbed the stairs and knocked out the lighthouse keeper. I took the gun, aimed. I didn't know, but the lighthouse keeper was comin' around. I was about to shoot, when the keeper knocked me in the head. I recovered quickly and grabbed him and threw him against the wall. I took my aim and shot the leader. One clear shot.  
  
The rest was easy, for that day. We took many out while they were realizing what had and was happening. We got the drugs and fled.  
  
For the next month, it was an all out war. We were ambushed, they sent in spys, many were assassinated. We did the same. Anarch eventually surrendered. Jimmy didn't like mixing. He hadn't allowed converts in the past and didn't want to start. He decided that he would use one of his best men to lead Anarch. The man he chose was me.  
  
We were allied gangs and fought with each other and helped each other out. We did our own stuff, too. That was a good thing. There's no fucking worse thing than sharing.  
  
One day in mid-July there came a tragedy. Me and Jimmy Capel were like brothers by then. It was a bust on The Triax. S.W.A.T. teams, SEALs, cops, everything. The Triax were in a warehouse by Escobar International Airport. The cops received a lead by some bastard on the inside that they were loading trucks full of drugs and getting ready for a big sale with the Cubans. I was there with some of my men, giving security. There was a huge flash of light. A spotlight from a Helicopter. When the chopper shut the lights off, they were everywhere. It was fucking mad. S.W.A.T. were descending from where they were waiting on the top, all sorts of 5-0 where busting in the doors. Bullets everywhere. I ducked behind a trick and started shooting. All that were with me found places to hide. The cops didn't know where everything was coming from. We stopped shooting. We heard the yells and swears from the inside. Bullets everywhere. Then they left. They hauled out many and we were still hiding.  
  
Once they left, we entered. Blood and guns everywhere. Jimmy was dead.  
  
I was the leader of the dominant gang. and bent on revenge.  
  
****See what happens in the next chapter!!!***** 


	2. No Place For Angels

"Let's stop the interview, we'll continue tomorrow", my interviewer says.  
  
"Okay", I reply.  
  
As I walk down the hallway, I am approached by a police officer.  
  
"We're switching you to Vice City's high security prison", he says.  
  
They take me to the police transport van. The police officer in the back knocks me out.  
  
I wake up in a leaky warehouse. There are men in suits standing around me.  
  
"Romerex", says one, "you're back"  
  
"We've sent the van you came her in over the edge of the bridge and into the water. Once it hit the water, the bomb we put in it exploded. You're dead", said another smiling.  
  
************The Story Continues************  
  
1980, Vice City.  
  
A man with long red hair and green eyes stands in front of 100s of men in a warehouse. This man has a large black trench coat, and is wearing black biker gloves. This appearance labels him as an anarchist. This man is the one that you're mother would hurry you past on the way to the store. An appropriate appearance for the most important man in the Vice City crime life. An appropriate appearance for the leader of the largest gang in the city, Anarch. This man was MB Romerex AKA Panther.  
  
"Our brothers, lost. Our grief, unending. The Vice City police, Big Brother, have pissed us off majorley. Let's avenge them. VICE CITY IS NO PLACE FOR ANGELS!!!"  
  
They load guns and bombs into the back of 7 black vans. 10 people climb into each van. Panther climbs into a van and they drive off.  
  
The night was black and the on looking bums and hookers could feel a chill. The chill was not of cold. Not in a Vice City summer night. The chill was the wind before the storm.  
  
The black vans pulled up to the Vice City Police department on Little Havana. Men dressed in black clothes jumped out of the back holding AK-47s and sporting grenades. Then four men came out in heavy body armor. One of those men was Panther. They each held plastic explosives.  
  
" Okay", Panther half-whispered, "We're gonna plant these bombs at their marks that we spray painted on the building yesterday. Stupid fucking cops thought they were just graffiti. You guys have to board up the entrances. Pick off any that escape. You five", he points at a group, "you five go up top and take out the helicopter in 6 minutes. Guard the entrance from up there. Come back in 15 minutes. GO!!!"  
  
Everyone splits up and does what they're told.  
  
***In the Police Department***  
  
BUZZZZZZZZ  
  
"What the hell?"  
  
BUZZZZZZZZ  
  
"What is that?"  
  
BUZZZZZZZZ  
  
"Go out and check"  
  
A police officer goes to the door.  
  
"It won't open, sir"  
  
"What?!"  
  
The higher ranking officer goes and checks. They start ramming the door. The officer takes out his gun and shoots through the door and hits a man outside in the stomach. Another man from outside makes a hole in the door and pelts the inside with bullets. He quickly boards back up the door.  
  
***Back Outside***  
  
"Is everyone back?" yells out Panther.  
  
"YES", they reply in unison.  
  
"Good"  
  
Panther takes out a can of green spray paint and spray paints a large A with a circle around it on the door. Everyone takes shelter in an empty house a while down the road. They still can see the department in plain light.  
  
BOOM!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
The ground shakes as fire erupts the ground where the police station once stood. The air reeks of smoke and death. The nearby buildings catch fire and 7 black vans drive from the empty house, into the darkness.  
  
***Please review the story!***  
  
It will continue!! 


	3. Psycho

Months after the Police Department Incident.  
  
As the late night rain settled, a homeless man, 52 but looking around 65, stumbled out of an open shed in Little Haiti. He scoured the ground to find paper that he could use his only match to create a fire to warm his shivering self with.  
  
"Ahh, luck", the homeless man muttered as he picked up a stack of papers that had been hidden from the cruel rain by a stray tarp.  
  
He went back to the shed with the paper and used the garbage can outside to light a fire. Just a normal day for the unlucky victims of taxes, bills, and Vice's current short supply of jobs.  
  
He lit the fire and warmed himself up, looking across the street, where a group of Haitians had gathered around a young Cuban, around 13.  
  
"Hey, got the drugs?" said one Haitian to the young boy.  
  
"Yeah, got the money?" replied the kid.  
  
"No, we gots the guns, boy!" the Haitian said as they whipped out Uzis.  
  
The homeless man gasped.  
  
Suddenly a group of men dressed in black jumped out of the bushes and grabbed the Haitians and dragged them into the bushes. The sweetly quiet sound of silenced pistols corrupted the air for a period of 2 seconds. All was quiet.  
  
A long-red haired man wearing a black trench coat emerged, followed by the group of night warriors who had taken out the Haitians.  
  
"Here's your money, kid", the leader said in a low scarred voice, "now give us the drugs and scatter"  
  
"Uhh, okay sir!" said the child, recovering from the shock of what had just happened.  
  
The trench coat-laden warrior walked over to the homeless man, gave him some money, and him and his fearless men walked off.  
  
***2 days later***  
  
"Men, the Haitians are posing a threat to our dealings", Panther told his men at a conference at their Vice City Port hideout, "we're going to have to minimize this threat by minimizing the Haitians".  
  
Anarch had been feared and infamous since the Police found out that it was them who created the hellfire of the Police Department Incident (PDI). All who wore the Anarch colours, green and black leather, that had been seen had been brought in for questioning by the cops.  
  
The meeting tonight had all the divisions of Anarch attending it. The warehouse was full of these dreaded death-bringers.  
  
Suddenly the door broke open, letting in an army of Haitians. Guns blazing, the entered and slew the first row of unsuspecting Anarchs. Panther drew his guns and jumped of the stage, firing. As he leapt from the stage, he appeared to many Haitians as an angel of death, his hair like fire, his green eyes like poison, the trench coat just looking plain badass. Haitians kept pouring in. Panther took a hiding place behind some wooden boxes in a corner and killed many with his pistol, then, taking out an AK-47, he killed a couple rows that were pouring in. The Haitians over- whelmed the great Anarch empire that night, and they took Panther prisoner in an old abandoned house in Little Haiti.  
  
The house of torture. They had a psychotic war veteran, who would whip and slash at Panther daily. This went on for about a month. They would torture Panther for 5 hours a day and leave him alone for the rest of the day. At first, Panther was shocked and depressed, numbed, by the great tragedy that had fallen upon him again. After 2 weeks he had started to come around and he looked around his room for possible escape routes. He found some weak boards and used the last of his strength to work them loose. He worked the boards loose over the coarse of a week and covered them up when it came time for torture. That night, an hour after the psycho left, Panther made his escape. Being bound by only handcuffs, he dragged his battered and hurting, bleeding body out of the dreaded house. He dragged himself, unable to walk, through the bushes until he came to an old dark open shed. He dragged himself inside and was met by another person who had currently occupied the shed. A homeless man.  
  
"It's you!" the homeless man said in an excited whisper, "you're hurt. I think I've got some of those band-aids around here somewhere"  
  
He went off looking through the shelves. Panther, too tired to talk, just laid there on the floor and looked at the roof. The old man came back and offered Panther some band-aids.  
  
"No thanks, sir", Panther muttered, "I'll get some friends to patch me up tomorrow. I'll just sleep now"  
  
"You're not goin' to sleep without a proper meal. Not with wounds like that. I've got some canned soup cooking on that fire outside", the old man said, pointing to the pot over a fire in a garbage can outside, "you should eat some before going to sleep"  
  
"Thanks sir" Panther said wearily.  
  
A while later, the old man left and came back inside carrying the pot in his gloved hands. "Hope you like it", the homeless man said, "by the way, the names Fred. Fred Chambers."  
  
"Thank you, I'm MB Romerex. Call me Panther."  
  
"Okay Panther", Fred said with a smile.  
  
They ate, talked for a while and then slept. Fred tried to offer his sleeping bag but Panther refused to take anymore from the old man and slept on the floor.  
  
The next day, they shared farewells and Panther left. He had healed up a bit overnight and was fully awake. He wanted revenge on the psycho who would plague his dreams for the rest of his life.  
  
He jacked a Voodoo and drove off to Ammu-Nation and bought a pistol and a flamethrower (he didn't have to pay because he was friends with the owner).  
  
He returned to the house of torture and resumed his old position on the floor, pistol behind his back and flamethrower waiting outside. He had bolted back up his escape and waited for the psycho to return.  
  
"Hello", the psycho said in his squeeling voice as he entered, "ready for more fun?"  
  
"Fuck you", Panther said. It was his usual response.  
  
Panther whipped out his pistol and shot the psycho in his kneecaps and listened to the inhuman being scream. Panther ran outside and locked the psycho in the house. He let the psycho go through pain for about 5 minutes and then set the house on fire and listened to the psycho die.  
  
Panther collapsed with the thought that the torture was over and lay as the fire consumed the house. He finally got up and walked off to an old friend's house.  
  
***The story will continue, please review*** 


End file.
